Bells at Bastogne
by Darkover
Summary: Christmas is not a date, but a celebration. One shot. Please give me a Christmas present-review!


5

Title: "Bells at Bastogne"

Author: Darkover

Rating: K+, for mention of wounds.

Disclaimer: I do not own "Band of Brothers," the miniseries. Nor do I own any of the men upon whom it was based, as they were and are real people, for whom I have great respect and admiration. I also do not own the Christmas carol, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." I do not know who wrote it, except that I am not the author. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be inferred, so please do not sue.

Characters: Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon. Not slash.

Summary: Christmas is not a date, but a celebration. One shot. Please send me a Christmas present—review!

Dedication: To all U.S. military personnel, past and present, who were or are unable to be home at Christmas. God bless you.

~00O00~

Winters moved off in the direction of the foxhole he shared with Nixon. His hands, still soaked with Harry Welsh's blood, he dried on his trousers, because he had nothing else with which to wipe them clean. As a boy growing up, his mother had always made sure he and his father both had clean handkerchiefs at all times. She considered that one of the characteristics of a gentleman. A sign of civilization.

There was nothing at all civilized about war, he thought. Especially not at Bastogne.

Winters found the foxhole at last, empty. He slid down into it, feeling the intense cold as it radiated from the frozen earth. He had hoped Nixon might have returned here, but there was as yet no sign of him. Nixon was still alive and not wounded, because Winters had seen that his best friend was still intact minutes after the incoming shell hit Harry as they were gathered around the small fire. So, at least one friend was still alive. The C.O. of Easy Company wearily let his head loll back, trying to expunge the mental image of his friend bleeding to death under his hands. He hoped Harry survived. He hoped Harry would not be maimed for life. He also hoped that Eugene Roe was not having a breakdown. He had sent Roe back with Harry, to get a hot meal. Maybe that would help.

The cold and damp of the snow-filled foxhole were seeping into the back of Winters' neck. He sat up, feeling even wearier than before. As he did so, he heard a sound.

Bells, that was it. Church bells, not as loud as those he heard during his drop on D-Day, but he still recognized the sound. And singing, which seemed to come from a great distance. That was just as well, considering the fact that the song was in German. Winters frowned. There was something familiar about it….

Yes, it was a hymn. A Christmas carol, and one he recognized. For a moment, he was amazed, and then thought; Why shouldn't it be a Christmas carol? It must be Christmas Eve by now. Maybe even Christmas Day, although the sun had not yet risen. He focused his attention on the song, mentally translating it into English.

*I heard the bells on Christmas Day,/Their old familiar carols play,/As wild and sweet, the words repeat,/Of peace on earth, good will to Men.*

Was that a church choir? Or his kraut counterparts, sitting in their own foxholes, singing?

*I thought as now, this day had come,/The belfries of all Christendom,/had rung so long, the unbroken song,/Of peace on earth, good will to Men.*

The carol should have cheered Winters up, for normally he loved everything associated with the holiday. But tonight, he felt tears fill his eyes. It seemed like such a lie. But he found himself listening, anyway.

*And in despair, I bowed my head,/There is no peace on earth, I said…*

No doubt about that, Winters thought miserably, wiping the stinging tears from his eyes.

*For hate is strong, and mocks the song,/Of peace on earth, good will to Men….*

The church bells, as if on cue, tolled again, and Winters found himself remembering the rest of the carol.

*Then pealed the bells, both loud and deep…/"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep./The wrong shall fail,/The right prevail…"*

Winters sang the last line softly to himself.

*"With peace on earth, good will to Men."*

Nixon appeared at the edge of the foxhole. "Move over, Dick." The intelligence officer slid in beside him. Nixon eyed his friend. "There's something on your face."

"Huh?" Winters started to scrub at his face, but Nixon shook his head.

"It's a smile. You're smiling. I haven't seen you do that in so long, I've forgotten what it looked like."

"Why shouldn't I smile?" Winters said, without sarcasm. "It's Christmas."

Nixon stared at him, seemed about to say something, but changed his mind. "Come on over here, Dick. Warm up a bit."

They huddled together, feeling marginally warmer. "Merry Christmas, buddy," Nixon said. He meant for it to sound cynical and sarcastic, but instead his tone was filled with an awkward tenderness, as he pulled his best friend a little closer.

"You too, Nix," the red-haired man said. Within minutes, Winters was asleep, still smiling.

~00O00~

Author's Note: I was listening to the Christmas carol, "I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day," sung by Eddy Arnold, and the mental image of Winters in a foxhole at Bastogne, listening to the carol being sung as church bells rang, came into my head. Listen to that song as Eddy Arnold sang it, and find out if doesn't have a similar effect on you. Merry Christmas!


End file.
